The scientist’s niece, an Olympic figure-skater with an Olympian figure, wants to come along on the trip to investigate the strange meteor that made a horizontal landing in the wastes of Lapland. The offensive Swedish geologist hero refuses:
“Oh no, not this trip. You just stay here and look pretty until we get back.”
But, being a woman and everything, she has to come along anyway (it’s like they had minds of their own or something!), despite the landscape being littered with antlers strewn from reindeer dismembered by the big space thingummy, and soon she has been abducted by it.
This hairy fellow forms a frontispiece to Dennis Gifford’s Pictorial History of Horror Movies — I’ve wanted to see him in action since I was about ten. I probably would have enjoyed it more then… but I still enjoyed it.
TERROR IN THE MIDNIGHT SUN. Admittedly, the terror takes a while to turn up. The offensive Swedish geologist hero and the scientist’s Olympic figure skating niece go skiing together… They listen to some xylophone jazz… These are pleasant activities, to be sure, but there’s a certain lack of dramatic tension, and a decided lack of midnight-sun-terror during this first half of the film. But, eventually…
“We’re standing before some kind of craft from outer space.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well… look at it.”